Occasionally an extraordinary person will cross our path when the day is dark transforming it with healing light during what can only otherwise be terrifying and unimaginable pain. I had brain surgery to correct disabling tremors. Before surgery, it was necessary to have a metal halo fit for surgery. A crowd of people gathered in the tiny cubicle to observe and place the halo. When they arrived to my right was a man with kind eyes and a name badge that read Brandon. The room continued to fill, and I tried to not notice the cart full of terrifying instruments and the metal halo being wheeled in.

As the doctors prepped me to begin the process of numbing my forehead and the back of my head to put the halo in place, Brandon reached for my hand. I tried to focus on breathing deeply and closing my eyes in preparation. I could not have possibly anticipated the excruciating pain that was to come. Tears sprung from my eyes out of reflex. The pain was so intense I was temporarily blinded. The only thing that grounded me and kept me from screaming to make it stop was Brandon's firm and empathetic grip. He maneuvered several times to allow the doctors to adjust but he never let go. Finally, towards the end of the numbing process of my forehead, I started to panic; the pain was so overwhelming I was afraid it might not stop. I could hear the fuzzy sounds of voices near me, but the words didn't make any sense. Sometimes someone forges a connection so quickly and with so much depth that it's hard to put into words. What is clear is that they care deeply, and the empathy transmitted is so pure it's transcendent. Brandon was that for me. He stayed with me through the entire process; the warmth of his hand and occasional squeezes let me know I could endure what I needed to until I crossed the finish line.

Once the numbing was complete, they attached the halo with screws. I had to ask for additional numbing numerous times even though every cell in my body fought against vocalizing the need. People moved around and I could hear them shuffling and prepping for the next thing, but Brandon was the constant person that grounded me when I felt untethered and terrified. He went with the crew to have my CT done and followed me to surgery where they got me ready. My surgery was less typical than some in that the first several hours would be awake without sedation and my anxiety was high. I had only slept six hours or so in the days preceding my surgery and I was exhausted already. My head and halo were locked into place with warm blankets draped over me and once in a while I would feel a hand touch me and I knew it was him offering comfort.

Once the surgery was underway my mind drifted from disbelief to panic. The surgery proved to be challenging from the start; the observers talked loudly in the room; the surgical nurse that was assigned to me I guess had been summoned elsewhere. I could hear snippets of the surgeon's conversation about what to do next behind me. I'm hearing impaired and not being able to clearly make sense of the conversations in the room by only catching snippets made it even more frightening. Everything was a blur of sights and sounds. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut in an attempt to block out what I could. Partway through the surgery, I heard a voice say, "I'm assigned to another case, but I wanted to see how she was doing" and a moment later I felt Brandon's hand grab mine. I couldn't see him, but his warm hand was already a familiar comfort. It was a moment when I desperately needed someone to know that I was human and not just a procedure. I breathed a sigh of relief. I felt seen and cared for again.

Sometimes it's not the words that someone says that really matter in the end; it's being present for someone in moments of unimaginable pain and fear showing them with your actions that they don't have to weather the storm alone. I am forever grateful to Brandon. He provided empathy and comfort in a way that only someone who feels it sincerely in their heart could.